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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25224820">Superglue</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoodlesOfTheMind/pseuds/DoodlesOfTheMind'>DoodlesOfTheMind</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Show Me the Glint of Light on Broken Glass [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Naruto</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Co-dependent friendships, Disabled Character, Gen, Multi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:02:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,791</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25224820</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoodlesOfTheMind/pseuds/DoodlesOfTheMind</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of non-chronological unconnected short stories within the Broken Glass universe, various characters and POVs. Lighter in tone than Shrapnel, because I'm a big ol softy on the inside ^_^</p><p>(And because I am a massive procrastinator who once again got distracted trying to finish the core story, Fracture. Please forgive me!)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mitarashi Anko/Uchiha Shisui, Namiashi Raidou/Shiranui Genma, Uchiha Shisui &amp; Uchiha Nanami (OC)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Show Me the Glint of Light on Broken Glass [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1760440</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Tempting Fate (Shisui & Anko)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Theme: kindred spirits</p><p>A teenage Shisui copes with the aftermath of a nightmare about the Battle of Kosaka, one of many bloody, brutal, losing battles Konoha fought during the Third War. Meanwhile, Anko works through the lasting trauma of Orochimaru's experiments on her as a child. </p><p>Set shortly after the two of them met in Shrapnel.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Shisui isn’t the only one who comes here. Once in a while, there are tracks. Scraps of torn clothing, shuriken marks in the tree trunks or arterial spray across the cliffs just at the height of a man’s neck. Academy students tell stories about the youkai of Training Ground 44, of the oni and the kappa, of the hyakki yagyou that would cut down anyone foolish enough to enter the Forest of Death. There are no tengu in those stories, no watchful protectors of the forest to spare the truehearted or doom the corrupt. Even children know that once you draw steel, you’re alone in the dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shisui sinks deep into that place of cool, crystal clarity. He breathes in stifling stagnant air, and exhales the memory of Kosaka. The veil of shadow parts before crimson eyes, and Shisui </span>
  <em>
    <span>hunts.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He takes his time, dismissing a venomous centipede the size of an oxcart, a pack of wolfbats prowling along the cliffside, and a towering horned ungulate that might once have been a deer. Someone else will need them, some other night. He flickers further in toward the forest’s heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bloom of fetid air hits him an instant before a triple-jointed, spike-armored leg drives toward his hip. His blood sings, one low steel-wire note. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This one.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He pivots in the air, turning a piercing blow into a long, shallow slice over his flank. Steel flashes to shear through the bulbous joint...and bites just an inch into obsidian plate, striking sparks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What—</span>
  </em>
  <span> The Sharingan tracks movement an instant before, and Shisui carries his momentum into a leap, wrenching himself clear of a barbed stinger as long as his arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Six limbs and eight rapid translocations later, Shunshin no Shisui believes in demons.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He clings to the underside of a narrow branch and grins down at a creature he can only describe as the bastard offspring of a Stone Country mountain spider and a scorpion, except ten feet high. Grey chitinous plates cover an unnaturally ridged body, darkening to black at the legs and stinger. Fangs like a snake’s protrude from a gaping mouth, set below a single pair of eyes glowing with hate and hellfire. It’s only then that he realizes he isn’t the creature’s only prey tonight. A shadow takes advantage of the distraction and sinks a kunai between two of the articulated plates above the creature’s sting. The explosive tag around the haft ignites, and Shisui moves in tandem with the figure below. Ten seals, two heartbeats, and fire roars down the beast’s throat to burn away its hissing scream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It falls like a rockslide, thirty feet to the forest floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the silence that follows, rich laughter bubbles up like a geyser of danger and delight. The victorious shadow steps into the moonlight, head cocked upward, split lip shining. A rent across the middle of her dark shirt flutters in the breeze, where the thing must have nearly gutted her. There’s ash in her hair and faded scars on her arms, and her chakra thrums the vibrant purple of fresh bruises. She’s bloodsoaked and magnificent. And familiar. Shisui drops to the ground. On impulse, he rips one blackened fang from the demon’s mouth. He smirks at a memory and holds the gruesome trophy out toward her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mitarashi Anko’s fierce smile morphs into something more akin to a showing of teeth. She twists the demon tooth through sweat-matted hair like a kanzashi and hums as venom sizzles down the back of her neck, glistening over the edge of a hidden tattoo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Together, they go to tempt fate.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Midnight Sunshine (Nanami & Shisui)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Uchiha Nanami slowly recovers after the attack in Shrapnel. Genjutsu-master Shisui helps.</p><p>Disability does not equal death, even in a ninja village.</p><p>For a doujutsu clan, blindness is a VERY big deal, and lasting disability from the concussion lead to frequent seizures and difficulty with complex movements like walking, hence the wheelchair and her need for a service dog. It also left her unable to continue her apprenticeship in Mikoto's forge. In a world without the Uchiha Massacre, I imagine she would have excelled as a strategist, but alas...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Nanami smiles, bathed in midnight sunshine. “Your move.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beneath the incessant electric hum of the hospital, the burble of the koi pond and the whisper of wind through the leaves, fingertips drum thoughtfully along the edge of a stone tabletop. One-two-three-four-five-six-seven, one-two-three-four-five-six-seven, then a decisive clack of marble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Knight G6. Got your queen,” Shisui supplies helpfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her grin turns wolfish. She never asks to see the board anymore, though her cousin can render genjutsu that leave even </span>
  <em>
    <span>Itachi-sama</span>
  </em>
  <span> questioning reality. (Really, the spider in his hair thing was just </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean.</span></em><span>) Confident fingers retaliate, swift and brutal with a long-overlooked bishop, and Shisui groans before she can cry, “Checkmate!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That makes three wins out of five, and Nanami holds out an expectant hand. She’s learned to tell a five from a fifty from a hundred, and Shisui-nii never shorts her. He also never goes easy on her. She thinks shakily that she loves him for that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At her side, Shiro whacks his tail against her leg, all powerful muscle and coarse fur. He felt it too, then. But he isn’t barking for Hitomi-sensei yet. She still has time. Nanami reaches across the chessboard and lays a tentative hand on Shisui’s arm. He never makes her ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All at once, her mind is suffused with warmth and gentle golden light. A cherry blossom tree blooms to life above their heads, filtering the midday sun a soothing pink. The shady grass beneath her bare feet turns from cool and ticklish to thick verdant green, and the ivory-and-onyx chessboard is arranged precisely as she imagined. High glass windows rise to their side, revealing a bright hallway and two young nurses in trainee uniforms, much-needed coffee cups clutched in their hands. On her left, a grizzled Jounin stops and eyes his crutches with disgust before he resolutely limps down the smooth stone garden path toward an open bench. (He trips. She winces. The nurses veer off course to administer a thorough scolding.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shisui lets her look her fill through his eyes. She only withdraws her hand when his reflection in the window shifts slightly, revealing the telltale strained line of his lips. She lets go, and it feels like falling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darkness catches her. Shisui’s control is so fine that the snap-back of chakra is almost nonexistent over her scarred coils. He doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> tired. But she can’t pretend she didn’t see the outline of thick bandages beneath his shirt or the fresh stitches peeking out from under his sleeve—field stitching, ‘cause it’s uneven, just like the faded white scar over Mikoto-shishou’s shoulder. ‘Cushy diplomatic escort mission’, her </span>
  <em>
    <span>backside.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Nanami makes a mental note to sic Hitomi-sensei on him before he can flicker back to the family compound.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s tail wraps over her knee again in urgent warning, and she politely thanks her cousin for the game. And for the little box of pocky secreted in her pillow upstairs. And for... She swallows the words. Fear is beneath her, as an Uchiha. Selfishness is unforgivable in a shinobi.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She waves cheerfully and shoos him off as he promises to stop by again tomorrow, mission schedule permitting, and clings to iron control and the padded arms of her wheelchair as muscles begin to tremble. Only when she’s sure he’s gone does she reach for Shiro. Maybe she can make it inside before— Before—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The world cracks around her, and Nanami whimpers as the seizure takes her.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Burning in Your Fire (Raidou & Genma)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A year after their reunion on Team Ro, Raidou and Genma settle into a routine.</p><p>I was listening to an old Trapt album and their song "Contagious" made me think of Genma and Raidou with their angsty, violent reunion sliding back into a maybe-slightly-codependent friendship. The line at the end of the song "You keep running (you keep running, you keep running) through my veins" got stuck in my head on a loop since Genma's a poisons expert, and Raidou is terrible at emotions.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Raidou sits at the tiny, battered table in a familiar kitchenette. He moved out of the ANBU barracks years ago, into a fifth-floor walkup with a deep soaking tub and an actual bedroom, but the barebones studio floorplan is still imprinted on his subconscious as </span>
  <em>
    <span>home.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Or maybe that’s just the man leaning over the counter, adjusting the flame under a ceramic dish no wider than a sakazuki cup. Knowing Genma, it probably </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> a sakazuki cup, which is why Raidou only drinks out of the bottle. The faint static from the radio on the windowsill lightens up a bit, broken antenna apparently lined up just well enough for him to catch the quiet rhythm of guitar and drums. The voice that joins it breaks with something powerful and raw, equal parts biting hostility and fierce gut-deep longing. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I saw your intentions, I gave you permission, go ahead and start the war</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I was out of addictions, by my own admission, oh I’ve been keeping score</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The next senbon in his hand doesn’t waver, but Raidou pauses before he dips it into the well of earth-brown resin. Amber eyes lit with quiet exhilaration when Genma described the properties of oomukade poison, incapacitating as a contact agent, lethal upon injection. Minato-sama would have slapped Genma upside the head for handling it without gloves, let alone on the same counters where he occasionally commits S-rank culinary atrocities. Raidou can’t quite smile at the thought, but he holds his ground against the tidal wave of old hollow guilt and ashen grief. Repeated exposure, he thinks, only half bitter, as Genma nudges the flame a little wider.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I let you in, I let you in and you infected me</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Can’t get enough of you, can’t get enough of you</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I breathed you in, I breathed you in and now I’m in too deep</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t think I’m pulling through, don’t think I’m pulling through</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Can’t get enough of you</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The lyrics are rushed and frantic, almost a sob, and they resonate. He goes utterly still, eyes closed, straining to hear his fate over the swell and ebb of distortion. There’s no sound of footsteps, but a warm hand falls lightly on his shoulder. He lets himself lean into it. Just a little. Just enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And I am burning in your fire (There is no cure)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You keep running, you keep running, you keep running</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Through my veins</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Into the Sun (Kurenai)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Amid a career of undercover assignments, Kurenai enjoys the rare opportunity to be her true self.</p><p>Set shortly before she becomes Team 8's sensei.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Kurenai paints her nails robin's-egg blue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t match her ivory skin, which takes well to rusty oranges and reds, to soft creams and caramel browns. The matte pastel doesn’t match the liquid sheen of her white halter top or the paint-splattered denim shorts. It doesn’t complement the jade hair stick that pins dark curls back from her face, revealing a delicate jaw and a pale slender throat. She doesn’t have to look in the mirror to know these things. It’s second nature by now, to craft a new persona over a crisp mission scroll, to refine and critically evaluate the image she presents to the world with a master artisan’s eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So she doesn’t look. She rubs cool satin between her finger and thumb, and settles a plain black dagger at the small of her back. She steps into flat strappy sandals, beige with little rhinestones, and tucks a worn leather coin purse into one frayed pocket. The frisson of tension that runs through her as she opens the apartment door isn’t mission-adrenaline, to be forged into wit and grace and strength and speed. Kurenai steps into the Konoha sun, spins her key around her finger, and follows the sound of an acoustic guitar and the smell of karumeyaki.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s finally home, and it’s festival season in Fire Country.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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